


Wrestle

by ziskandra



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arm Wrestling, F/F, First Kiss, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/pseuds/ziskandra
Summary: Cassandra had never thought something so simple as an arm wrestle would be what finally forced her to confront her feelings for the Inquisitor.
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Female Trevelyan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Wrestle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChromeEdwardian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromeEdwardian/gifts).



Despite the Inquisitor’s assurances, Cassandra had worried their fledgling friendship might fray after she had rebuffed the other woman’s advances.

As it turned out, she need not have worried, for Evelyn continued to treat her the same way she treated everyone else, with the easy humour and kind-hearted warmth which made her such a beloved leader of their burgeoning Inquisition.

Although a return to this dynamic was everything Cassandra had professed to wanting, she found herself missing the flirtations. Maybe she shouldn’t have told Evelyn to stop, and they could have nonetheless enjoyed the closer camaraderie brought upon by the flattery and insinuations.

There was precedent, of course. Not for Cassandra personally, but she _had_ observed the Inquisitor’s dynamic with Dorian with some curiosity. It was known that the Tevinter mage was exclusively interested in men, and yet somehow, his banter with Evelyn could become so … so _erotically_ charged it bordered on uncomfortable.

Then again, Cassandra was not Dorian, would never be able to treat such repartee as a game, no matter how much she admired his (and Evelyn’s) ability to do so.

No. Cassandra had always been very serious and meticulous when it came to matters of the heart. So much so she had planned out her ideal romance to the very last detail. She wanted to be adored by a suitor who could offer his protection while resolutely acknowledging that she could take care of herself. She wanted to be _romanced,_ to be read poetry, to be pined after, to be made to feel like she was beautiful instead of ungainly and awkward, too much of everything to ever be considered a subject of romantic interest.

She would never live up to the example presented to her in the novels she read. Men did not look at her and see a blushing maiden.

At the age of thirty-eight, she had long resigned herself to her fantasy never coming to pass. But she had made her peace with the reality of the matter: there was other, important work to be done. Her choices were shaping the future of Thedas, and that would have to suffice. 

So, she could not allow herself to be distracted by the meaningless affections of another woman, especially not a woman she had sworn to serve, no matter how much she might have enjoyed the special attention.

And yet, distracted she _was_.

It would be easier if they didn’t spend so much of their time together. Evelyn Trevelyan was a powerhouse of a woman and was obsessed with maintaining her fighting fitness. To that end, she could be found in the courtyard every morning even earlier than Cassandra, putting the dummies through a punishing training regime.

Whenever Cassandra woke and joined her, her eyes would always brighten in delight, enthused by the prospect of a proper spar. And if Cassandra’s gaze lingered on the swell of Evelyn’s muscles, or the way her forehead glistened with sweat as she exerted herself, well… who was to know? It could be her own private secret.

And for whatever reason, Cassandra was one of the Inquisitor’s favoured travelling companions whenever she left Skyhold. Given it was so frequently Dorian and Solas that joined them, this often left Cassandra and Evelyn sharing a tent. It was difficult to sleep when the scent of the other woman’s soap permeated her nostrils. When she’d once made the mistake of complaining to Dorian, he’d simply responded that as Evelyn was a Marcher, Cassandra should be grateful she was bathing at all.

Throughout it all, she kept her thoughts and feelings to herself. She would not ask for more than she had if she could not have everything she wanted.

Little did she know how something so simple as an arm wrestle would be what would finally cause her to come undone.

*

Despite the amount of time they spent in each other’s physical proximity, Cassandra didn’t think she’d ever held Evelyn’s hand in her own for so long before, certainly not long enough to admire the way their fingers fit together perfectly, like their hands were gloves that had been carefully crafted for one another.

Of course, it was not in the way she had wanted, as begrudgingly as she was starting to admit she desired such contact at all. Their bodies should be pressed together more tightly like they were while sparring, except perfecting their fighting forms would be the farthest thought from their minds in those intimate heated moments which she fantasised (ugh!) about whenever her usually indomitable focus drifted.

As the arm wrestle continued, Cassandra found herself faced with a predicament, albeit one wholly founded upon her own folly.

The problem was that she had assumed she would easily win.

She could only speculate as to why she had made such an assumption, especially when she spent so much time admiring the other woman’s arms. Most likely, it was that when it came to positive attributes, Cassandra felt most secure in her physical strength.

Whatever the case, it led to the same unfortunate conclusion. She had now held Evelyn’s hand for so long her palm was starting to sweat. How disgusting it must be! And yet, she did not want to concede defeat.

However, she was so unaccustomed to an arm wrestle continuing for so long she soon discovered that she had no strategy for maintaining her grip when her hand was far too slippery. Soon, her elbow trembled, losing its stability as an anchor point, and with one final burst of energy, Evelyn slammed Cassandra’s hand against the table.

Letting out a whoop of victory, Evelyn pumped her spare fist into the air. “ _Fuck yes_ ,” she exclaimed, then flashed a bashful look at the expression on Cassandra’s face. “I didn’t think I would actually win.”

Did Cassandra look reproving in that moment? She couldn’t tell, because she was too enamoured by the flush on Evelyn’s cheeks, the crinkles at the corner of her eyes, the small upturned furl of her lips.

_Her lips._

She could not properly describe it, but she was suddenly overcome with an urge to kiss her.

Against her every impulse, she resisted. It would not be proper, she decided, to act upon such a desire without an explanation.

“Inqusitor,” Cassandra started, before hesitating. The title felt so cold, so informal, for the admission she was about to make. She tried again. “Evelyn.”

If anything, Evelyn’s smile only widened. It was both maddening and strangely endearing. “Yes?” she answered, drawing out the sound of the vowel.

It took all of Cassandra’s resolve not to fidget in her seat. “Remember, ah, several weeks ago, when I…” Why was this so difficult? She swallowed heavily, wetting her lips with her tongue before continuing. “When I said I could not return your affections.”

The light in Evelyn’s eyes appeared to dim at the words, although the breadth of her grin remained the same. “I remember.”

“I find that my circumstances have changed. That is to say, I find myself wanting to offer you _my_ affection, if it would still be welcomed.”

She was not sure who moved first, for before she could process Evelyn’s reaction to her confession, she found the other woman’s lips upon her own and oh, _oh_ , her own body was responding intuitively, deepening the kiss and leaning across the table. If she wasn’t so conscious of the fact that they were still in a rather crowded tavern, she half-felt she would have climbed atop of it. Atop of _her_.

Evelyn eventually pulled back for air, the lines at her eyes deeper than ever. “I hope my answer was clear enough,” she whispered, so quietly that only the two of them could hear. Cassandra’s heart thrummed triumphantly in her chest.

It was only then did she realise she’d never let go of Evelyn’s hand.


End file.
